Road To Tara
by TheEvilGeniusness
Summary: What if Rhett hadn't left Scarlett at the Rough and Ready, after the siege of Atlanta? Would Scarlett have gotten over Ashley more quickly? Could her relationship with Rhett have been different? Rated T for safety.
1. Chapter 1

_"Oh, Rhett," she whispered clasping his arm, "What would we ever have done without you? I'm so glad you aren't in the army!"_

_He turned his head and gave her one look, a look that made her drop his arm and shrink back. There was no mockery in his eyes now. They were naked and there was anger and something like bewilderment in them. His lip curled down and he turned his head away. _

_For a long time they jounced along in a silence unbroken except for the faint wails of the baby and sniffles from Prissy. When she was able to bear the sniffling noise no longer, Scarlett turned and pinched her viciously, causing Prissy to scream in good earnest before she relapsed into frightened silence._ _Finally Rhett turned the horse at right angles and after a while they were on a wider, smoother road. The dim shapes of houses grew farther and farther apart and unbroken woods loomed wall-like on either side._

_"We're out of town now," said Rhett briefly, drawing rein, "and on the main road to Rough and Ready."_

_"Hurry. Don't stop!"_

_"Let the animal breathe a bit." _

_Then turning to her, he asked slowly: "Scarlett, are you still determined to do this crazy thing?"_ _"Do what?"_ _"Do you still want to try to get through to Tara? It's suicidal. Steve Lee's cavalry and the Yankee Army are between you and Tara."_ _Oh, Dear God! Was he going to refuse to take her home, after all she'd gone through this terrible day?_

_"Oh, yes! Yes! Please, Rhett, let's hurry. The horse isn't tired."_

_"Just a minute. You can't go down to Jonesboro on this road. You can't follow the train tracks. They've been fighting up and down there all day from Rough and Ready on south. Do you know any other roads, small wagon roads or lanes that don't go through Rough and Ready or Jonesboro?"_ _"Oh, yes," cried Scarlett in relief. "If we can just get near to Rough and Ready, I know a wagon trace that winds off from the main Jonesboro road and wanders around for miles. Pa and I used to ride it. It comes out right near the MacIntosh place and that's only a mile from Tara."_ _"Good. Maybe you can get past Rough and Ready all right. General Steve Lee was there during the afternoon covering the retreat. Maybe the Yankees aren't there yet. Maybe you can get through there, if Steve Lee's men don't pick up your horse."_

"_I _can get through?"

"Yes, _you. _You see, Scarlett, I'm-"

Suddenly he paused, eyes alert and head tipped as he listened to some sound.

Scarlett barely noticed; panic rised steadily in her chest as she pondered the meaning of his words, and her hands picked at his shirt front.

"Rhett," she whispered, the words catching in her dry throat, "Rhett, you're not leav-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Rhett grabbed her in his arms and covered her mouth with his hand. Surprised and alarmed, she struggled and tried to scream until he dragged her back to the wagon and whispered in her ear.

"Shush! You want the Yankees to get us? Help me move this cart!" Yankees! Stricken wordless with fear, she dragged the cart off the road and into the brushes on the side.

Melly gave a soft moan as the wagon bumped off the gravel into the soft, depressed mud on the side of the road, and Wade opened his mouth, too afraid at the sudden silence to call for his mother, as he had intended. Prissy said nothing, only rocked the baby in a frightened manner, ardently hoping it wouldn't awake from its slumber.

Rhett didn't let them stop until the wagon was deep in the cover of the bushes, a good distance from the road. There, in the middle of a particularly thick clump of weeds, he stopped the wagon, lifted Scarlett up and moved her carefully behind the horse, so she couldn't be seen. Wordlessly, he arranged himself beside her, his arm brushing hers. His breaths echoed in the silence, and Scarlett reached out a trembling hand to hold his arm again. In the darkness, she missed and put her hand instead on his chest, and felt, for a second, his muscles rising and falling her surprise, he caught her hand with his own larger ones and shifted them up his chest, to his heart, so she could feel it beat under her soft fingers. So enclosed in their tiny little world,

Scarlett hadn't noticed, until then, the growing rhythmic sound of tapping in the background, until the neighs of a horse resounded through the fields. Her grip tightened so on Rhett that she could feel her nails digging into his skin, and she turned her head and saw, dimly toward the direction of the road, the light of torches moving and glimpses of blue, carts laden with bags and bags of food, and the glint of rifles under the firelight. She didn't even dare to breath in those few minutes.

God, she prayed, please let us get through this and I promise I'll never do anything bad again! I'll never read Melly's mail anymore! In her fear, she kept on blabbering childishly in her mind. I'll never be hateful to Suellen and tease Careen, and I'll never ignore mother or hide my food under the bed when I don't want to eat it. Tears streamed down her face, but she continued. I'll never fall asleep at Mass or deceive Mammy to spend more time on the porch! I'll- "Scarlett!" Rhett whispered to her, holding her shoulders in the darkness. She realized then that she was trembling all over and that her hand was no longer on his chest.  
"Scarlett! Come on! We've got to go. They're gone." She looked up at him. "But, we can't go if they've taken the road." She cursed silently. Those damn Yankees!  
Rhett looked thoughtfully off into the distance, at the place where they had been stopped when the Yankees had sprung upon them. "If I go now, it'll make me a murderer. I didn't realize there were so many of them." He bit his lip and looked off into the distance, a burning of regret in his eyes that Scarlett couldn't understand.  
She picked at his sleeve again. "Rhett? Rhett, what are you thinking?" He looked at her again, and there was a bitterness in the smile he flashed her. "That I'm a coward," he answered acidly. Then he looked again at the sunken wagon, and held the bridle of the half-dead horse. "Come on, we have to risk the road. I won't kill Mrs. Wilkes by jostling her over this ground."  
For the rest of the way, he was mostly silent, but Scarlett didn't mind in the least. It was enough for her that he was by her, that he led the horse and helped her to hide the wagon in the underbrush whenever troops came by, for meeting either the blue or the gray uniforms would mean certain death. From time to time she would reach out to touch his arm reassuringly, and when she was frightened to pieces, she would grab him so tightly the blood would flow out of her fingers.  
"Good God, Scarlett!" He cried after the third time of this brutal treatment, "Don't you ever cut your nails?"  
But she forgave him this comment, and every jeering word he said to her that night. She wasn't graced with a particularly strong intellect, even when not crazed with fear, so she couldn't see the impotency in the way he clenched his fists or his anger at himself in the way he looked longingly back at the road. She couldn't see the blood lust that ran thickly in his veins as Rhett whipped the horse, but even she could feel the deadliness that hung in the still air around him, and felt sorry for any man that should approach them.  
"There's the Rough and Ready up ahead," Rhett said softly beside her, and she led the horse in a wide circle until the campfires of Lee's men faded into a glimmer behind them. They provided the only light in the dark night, besides the faint shine of the stars above them.

Scarlett remembered little of the rest of the night except that it seemed surreal, with her sweaty palms clutching uselessly at the seat beside her until it became quite clear that they were lost, and she was forced to get out and look for the wagon trail on foot. When she couldn't find it, she began to cry, and she remembered hazily that Rhett had snapped at her, before getting out and looking with her.

When they finally found it, the moon had emerged from behind a cloud. The bedraggled horse, feeling the soft dirt on its hooves, fell to the ground with a soft "neigh" and Rhett refused to whip it any more. Instead, he moved the wagon to the side of the road.

"Get some rest," he told Scarlett roughly. Scarlett needed no second urging; she immediately put her legs in the wagon, next to Melly, and fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

When she woke in the morning, the sunlight gleamed in her eyes and nearly blinded her. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was or what had happened the last night.

Then her eyes fell on Melly, deathly pale, her limbs skewed at odd angles. A sudden shock struck her heart as she remembered what had transpired last night. Oh god! They had killed Melly with their bumping over trees and rocks and dirt! It had been too much for her frail body and she had died! Then Scarlett saw the irregular rise and fall of her chest and realized that Melly was alive.

Stretching her legs, she walked to the front of the wagon, where Rhett was spread out, half on and half off the seat, his legs strewn apart and Melly's baby lying incongruously on his chest, next to his hat. Sleeping, Scarlett pondered, took some of the mocking lines from Rhett's face, making his features less swarthy and softer, happier. His dark eyelashes rested against his tanned, lean cheeks and the hard lines his muscles made against his white shirt rose and fell under her green, rather absent minded gaze. She wondered if she should wake him up or let him sleep longer, and decided eventually to look around. Parting the shrubs behind which they had rested, she looked out at the road ahead of her.

"It's the Mallory Place!" She realized joyfully, her heart beating more normally at the thought of being back among people who could help her. But then she noticed the ruin of the driveway, the trees torn from the ground, and the eerie billowing of the smoke rising from the black ruins where the house used to be. Her heart gave a great pang and she swallowed abruptly to clear the lump in her throat. Would Tara be like this?

She couldn't think about that now! Instead, she walked over to Rhett and poked him softly, lifting the baby off his chest.

"Rhett!" There was no response from him except a faint change in the way he held his mouth. She tried impatiently with one hand to brush the unruly strands of hair out of her eyes, and tried again. "Rhett! _Rhett! _Cap'n Butler!"

"Hmmm?" At this last, he stretched softly under the sunlight and smiled, his eyes squinting up at her. "Call me Rhett."

Scarlett was too tired to explain that she just had. "Well, whatever you're called, wake up." Her back ached terribly and her clothes were damp with sweat and water. The mewling cries of the baby filled the air, even as she tried to rock him back to sleep. "We've got to get to Tara before this baby dies. Or before Melly does."

Rhett stood up and bowed exaggeratedly, his every movement screaming mockery.

"At your service, Madam."

**A/N: The Beginning part in Italics is STRAIGHT FROM GWTW, to give you some intro of where exactly in the story I am. The part NOT in Italics is where I start. **


	2. Chapter 2

Scarlett rocked the baby back and forth, but his squalls still rent the air around them.

"Scarlett?" came a soft voice from the back of the cart. Melly! Scarlett rushed toward her, baby still in her arms.

"What is it, Melly?"

"Scarlett, darling, is there any water?" she questioned apologetically and faintly, as if she was sorry for being such a nuisance. A sharp wave of irritation drove through Scarlett, but she realized that, she, too, was too thirsty to go any farther. She looked around.

"Prissy!" Prissy sidled over, looking very much the worse for wear.

"Prissy, go run and get some water from the well in the Mallory place."

Prissy recoiled as if Scarlett had asked her to fight back the entire Yankee army.

"Lawd, Miss Scarlett! I can' do that! Supposin' dere's hants up there!"

"I'll make a hant out of you if you don't go right this minute!" Prissy got down petulantly from the wagon and dragged her feet at the pace of a snail towards the road; when she looked back at Scarlett's green glare, she picked up the pace infinitesimally, and Scarlett decided to go herself, lest they all die of thirst before the useless creature returned.

"Rhett!" she called, walking towards the front of the wagon and swaddling the baby in a towel. "Rhett, I'm keeping the baby here and going to go get some water." She walked over to where Rhett was crouched over, hoping that he might offer to go himself. But when she saw the horse, the words died on her lips and she almost dropped the baby.

"Rhett, he's not...dead, is he?" Rhett ministered carefully to the prostate creature, then stood up. "No, Scarlett," he reached out and took the baby from her, and it stopped its infernal racket at once. "But some water will help him too."

Scarlett merely nodded and hurried up the avenue. Behind her, she heard Melly's croak to Rhett. Even in her state of illness, Scarlett noted disapprovingly and half enviously, Melly didn't forget to thank him for his help.

She limped slowly up the avenue, still oppressively still and quiet in spite of the sunlight. Ashes dusted the ground where the house used to stand, the only mark of its former splendor a very blackened foundation and two stark coal-colored chimneys. Behind the house Scarlett and Prissy found the slave quarters, still standing, and a well. Between themselves, they found some rope and a bucket, and Scarlett drank to her heart's content, spilling the water over herself in her haste to fill herself with the cool, clear liquid.

They headed back to the others, bucket full and thirst sated. In her skirt Scarlett carried a few apples she had found next to a large tree, the remains of the once-famous Mallory orchard. Rhett rushed towards them anxiously upon their return.

"What took you so long?" Before Scarlett could answer viciously, he dismissed her. "Well, never mind. The horse'll live, and so will Miss Melly."

"Rhett, shouldn't..." she stopped abruptly, realizing her mother would die of shame if she heard what her daughter was about to say. Then she shook off the thought and continued. "Shouldn't Melly nurse the baby? He'll die of starvation."

Rhett just looked blankly at her, and she felt a rush of blood rising to her cheeks.

"Scarlett, I don't think-"

"Miss Melly ain' got no milk and she ain' gwin' tah have non'." chimed in Prissy, helpfully, from behind Scarlett."Aah seed many wumans like her, wid no hips and no-,"

"That's enough, Prissy!" burst in Scarlett, before she could continue naming body parts. She sensed, rather than saw, Rhett's smile, because she suddenly found the top of the wagon very interesting and avoided meeting his eyes.

"Well, then," she said, when she felt up to looking at Rhett again. He wore an amused expression and looked at her with that familiar unclothing gaze."We'd better hurry even more."

At her words, Rhett's face fell and he looked off toward the avenue. Scarlett followed his gaze to the ruins of the Mallory place and realized that the same fear played on his heart as on hers. Tara might not be there, after all, and if Tara wasn't there... Scarlett shook her head hurriedly. She couldn't think about that possibility now. Couldn't think about it, ever. Rhett turned his gaze to her again, and evidently he saw something that moved him to motion, for he threw off his thoughts and turned back to the scene behind them.

"Let's see if this horse can survive just a little while longer," he said, sauntering off to the wagon.

On and on, the road stretched in front of them as they moved slowly along the road, the horse dragging the cart slower than they would have walked themselves.

Stupid animal, railed Scarlett angrily. If she had the whip herself, she would make it move faster! As she passed the ruins of the houses she had danced in, whispered with beaux in, been kissed in, her dread increased even more for Tara and for her mother. Oh, if only she wasn't with Melly! Then she would run home, every step of the way. But she had promised, she reproached herself bitterly, she had promised Ashley that she would keep his wife and baby safe, no matter how much she might hate them.

Rhett looked silently at the desolation of the countryside beside them, his eyes inscrutable but flickering darkly. Every so often he would mutter something to himself, though Scarlett only heard what he was saying once.

"It's the ruin of our civilization." He brought the whip down on the horse's back again. "The end of the old ways, and the beginning of new, harsher ones."

Scarlett looked with frightened eyes at the still world around them, and knew exactly what he meant, for once in her life. House after house, all that she could see were two rising black chimneys, the remnants of stately, whitewashed mansions in an era that was passing.

But, no, she chastised herself, looking determinedly at the road ahead of them and trying not to think of the ghosts that could be hiding in the shadows. She wouldn't think of that. Once she- once she got home to mother and Tara, all her troubles would be over. Ellen would know what to do.

But with each house they passed, her fear grew. How could Tara have escaped the fire of the Yankees?

Suddenly, a deep lowing noise burst into her reverie, and she jumped nearly three feet into the air. Prissy gave a great scream and threw herself on the floor of the wagon, baby in her arms. Rhett swore and reigned in the horse, which fell to the ground and refused to get up. In the brush beside the road she saw two plaintive eyes looking at her, surrounded by red and white. Scarlett blinked in surprise and tried to rearrange her skirts.

"Why, Rhett, it's a cow!" Scarlett said cautiously.

"Dat din' soun' lak no or'nary moo," Prissy chimed in, over her fear.

"But, but where did it come from?" Scarlett asked, looking around at the desolate road.

"From the hands of God," Rhett answered sarcastically.

Prissy rejoined, "Ah specs it one o' da M'cintosh cows dat dey drove into deh woods when de Yankees com', Miss Scarlett!"

"Well," Scarlett began to think quickly, "we should take it with us. Maybe it'll have some milk for Melly's baby." She turned to Prissy. "Prissy, you tear up your petticoat and tie the cow to the back of the wagon."

But Prissy shook her head at her. "Miz Scarlett! Ah ain' had no petticoat fo' months, an' besides, I's skeered of cows!"

"You're a fool," Scarlett said deliberately, through the sudden haze of tiredness overcoming her brain, "And the worst day's work Pa ever did was to buy you." But the cow had to be gotten somehow! The animal seemed in pain as it lowed again; it must need to be milked very badly.

"Rhett," she said distractedly, "take off your belt."

At this, his brown face twisted with a huge smile and Rhett began to laugh, the whip slipping out of his hands and clattering to the ground. Scarlett blushed and began to splutter as she realized what she had said.

"Fie, Mrs. Hamilton!" he choked out, when he was able to talk again. "I suppose you want me to take off my trousers with it, too!" He continued to laugh until the tears streamed down his face and the baby started crying again, woken from its sleep by this sudden bout of mirth.

Scarlett stood up angrily. "I'll walk to Tara!" she shouted, her face still red. "Rhett Butler, you get off this wagon immediately! You think just because- oh, you, you cad! You low down nasty-" still yelling, she got up and jumped down from the wagon. Immediately Rhett was next to her, his hand on her arm and laughing hushed.

"Where do you think you're going?" He questioned, smile surpressed but eyes still laughing.

"Well, if you don't care about Melly's baby, I do!" She scowled. "And I'm not about to let a perfectly good cow get away just because you don't have any sense of decency!"

"_I_ don't have any sense of decency?"

"Oh, you- be quiet and turn away." He complied obediently, still smirking, and she hurriedly shoved her petticoat down her legs and rearranged her skirt over it. It was the last thing she had, she reflected sadly, that was new and unblemished, made of lace Rhett had brought her from Nassau. Determinedly, she gnawed into the garment and stretched it out.

"Rhett," he reappeared, looking at her from the side of the wagon. "Rhett, come tie this cow up to the wagon for me." She didn't want to admit it, but, like Prissy, she was also afraid of cows, with their horns and big bodies. Rhett looked into her face for a moment.

"Are you afraid of cows, Scarlett?" he questioned, and the smile was back on his face. "Ready to brave the sabers of the Yankee army, but afraid of your everyday farm animal?"

Scarlett glared at him. Oh, he was unbearable, and he had always been able to read her like an open book! Scowling, she stomped deliberately over to the cow and tied its horns up with shaking hands. Scared of cows! She'd show him.

When she had huffed and puffed back to the wagon, she realized it was no use. They were on the slope, the last hill before they would come to Tara. Looking at the horse, she bit her lip and realized that the sorry animal would never be able to make it, carrying such a load.

"Prissy," she called, "hold Wade's hand. I'll carry the baby and lead the cow and," she looked at Rhett anxiously. "Rhett, you'll have to carry Melly. Tara's just over the hill." Her heart beat loudly within her at the thought of what she would find at the top of the road, and the tried to swallow over a dry throat. Rhett, though, merely nodded reassuringly and went back to hold Melly; if there was doubt in his heart, he didn't show it, and for the third time that day, a wave of thankfulness washed over Scarlett for his presence. The feeling persisted as they walked towards the top of the hill and Rhett tried to reassure the sniffling Wade. It was so good to have a man around!

The heat from the setting sun washed over her and the shadows of the trees around them were suddenly prominent. Scarlett's head swum in the twilight, until she could no longer tell what was real and what was not. Were those the whitewashed pillars of Tara, or was her tired mind merely disguising a painful reality? Were there lights in the windows, or was that merely a trick of the light? But as they reached the top of the hill, joy flooded through Scarlett from head to toe. Yes, that was Tara! Her home was safe, untouched by smoke or soot. Safe! Mother!

Rhett paused by her side, Melly lying pale and unconscious in his arms.

"So this is Tara," he said, looking appraisingly at the acres of red land, now black in the dusk, the whitewashed walls of her home. Scarlett, looking with his eyes at the scene before her, noticed for the first time the silence that lay over the whole scene, the lack of lights in her home. Tara was safe but—her blood ran cold- something terrible had happened!

Suddenly, the door opened and a small figure stepped out. Scarlett's heart brightened slightly. Why, someone was home! It was Gerald! Again the terrible fear gripped her heart, and she swayed slightly, putting her hand on Rhett's as if to assure her that someone in the world was alive and warm and moving. Why did her father not call to her? She alighted the steps cautiously.

"Pa?" she whispered, not sure if it was really him, if this was her vigorous father with the terrible temper and kind heart. "Pa, it's me, Katie Scarlett. I've come home."

Rhett had never heard her voice take on such softness, and he looked sharply at her white, drawn face, Miss Melly's head lolling against his shoulder.

Gerald walked toward her and touched her shoulder. "Daughter," he said simply, and then was silent. Scarlett watched the way he limped towards her, leg dragging in the dust. Why, Gerald was an old man!

The piercing cries of the baby rent the air again and Gerald roused himself, looking down at her.

"It's Melanie and the baby," she replied swiftly, "they're going to stay with us a while. Melly's very ill."

Gerald turned his head to where Rhett stood, the moonlight shining over his strong muscles and the bent body in his arms.

"And, who is this?" he asked, stirred to some emotion by the sight of a strange man who stood on his doorstep like a young lion and carried his daughter's sister-in-law rather improperly.

"Rhett Butler," Rhett replied smoothly, and he would have shaken hands if they were free. "You played poker with me, remember?"

A faint semblance of reality seemed to stir itself in Gerald's head and he frowned. "Oh yes, I remember. Katie Scarlett," he turned to his daughter with some of the old measure of control, "why have you brought a strange man to our home?"

"Oh Pa," Scarlett replied irritably, "he's not a strange man and I would have died ten times yesterday if he hadn't been here." Rhett looked at her again at this last, and there was some glimmering in his eyes that she would have been puzzled at, if she had turned around. But at the baby's crying, thoughts of its welfare were first in her mind.

Pork emerged from the shadows, and Scarlett cried out with joy.

"Miss Scarlett! Miss Scarlett!" he cried, coming towards her. She smiled and gripped his arms as tears streamed down his face. "Ah so glad you back! Ah-"

"Pork," she broke in, "Pork, you've got to take Miss Melly inside and lay her very gently in the back company room. Prissy, I think Wade wants a drink of water. Is Mammy here? Tell her I need her." Pork nodded, spurred to action by the authority in her voice, and lifted Melly from Rhett's arms. Prissy hurried inside the house with him, and now just she, Rhett, and Gerald were left on the porch. Scarlett's hand, blistered and sore, sought her father's, questions suddenly on her lips.

"Did they get better, Pa?" she asked hesitantly, suddenly deathly afraid of the answer.

"The girls are recovering."

Silence fell on the porch. Scarlett felt Rhett tense up beside her, but her eyes were only for her father. Her lips opened but no sound came out; dread rose within her bones and she felt as if though she could choke.

"And mother-"

"Your mother died yesterday."

Scarlett felt the blood drain from her face and she gave a strangled cry. In a second Rhett's hands were on her shoulders, steadying her. She looked at him with eyes wide and unfeeling, and she saw only that his face held the first true expression of grief she had ever seen on it. Or perhaps she saw only the broken expression on her own face, reflected in his black eyes.

**A/N: Wow, guys! Thanks for all your reviews and praise! I really didn't expect that much of a response to this story (or any response at all). You galvanized me to write a much longer chapter than I usually do. **

**With the first name basis thing, I realized I thought that scene out differently than how I had written it, so I went back and fixed it so it was more true to the image inside my head. Same thing with Rhett sleeping on the wagon. **

**I really did try with the dialect. Apologies for anything I got completely wrong. **


	3. Chapter 3

Holding Rhett's arm tightly, Scarlett felt her way through the wide hall of her house, which was still as familiar to her as her own mind, even in the darkness. Rhett said nothing, only steadying her when she nearly tripped over the claw-footed chair in the hall. Gerald walked ahead of them, his suspicion of Rhett stilled by the knowledge that his wife was dead. Every so often, he muttered again "Katie Scarlett, your mother died yesterday. Your mother died yesterday." until Scarlett wanted to scream. She felt instinctively drawn toward Ellen's small office at the back of the house, unable to believe that Ellen would no longer sit in that room managing the plantation accounts. Surely her mother would still be there, sweet, soft Ellen with the comforting scent of lemon verbena and her understanding up-tilted eyes! But no, she couldn't think of Ellen right now, else she'd go mad! She would bend forward like Gerald and start sobbing like Wade. No, by God, she could mourn for the rest of her life, but she couldn't start crying right now.

Pork hurried up the wide front steps toward them, pressing himself close to Scarlett.

"Pork," she said, wondering that her voice could be so cool and steady, "Where are all the lights? Bring candles."

"Dey took all de candles, Miz Scarlett, 'cept fo' one, an' it's 'bout gone."

"Well," Scarlett said, "bring what's left of it into Mother's office." She shook her head sadly. Was there no end to the havoc that "they" had wreaked upon her home?

Pork hurried off and Scarlett groped her way in the inky darkness into Mother's room, sitting down on the small sofa that Gerald already occupied half of. Rhett let go of her arm here and she panicked for a moment, before she saw him sit down on a small chair half a foot away from the sofa. Her father put his arm in hers, appealing, trusting, and Scarlett noted with a shock just how much he had aged. For the first time in her life she saw him unshaven, his face rough with gray bristles.

Pork brought the candle in, and by the light of the fire Scarlett noticed just how small and shrunken her father's leg looked, which had formerly burst with saddle muscles and vitality. At the sight, Scarlett felt a finger of dread creep into her heart.

"Pork," she called again, "I feel faint and hungry. Is there any wine, even the blackberry kind?"

Pork shook his head sadly. "Miz Scarlett, dere ain' nothin' but some apples Mammy buhried unner de house. Dey dun took it all. An' de cellar's de furst place dey wen'."

They, they, they! She again felt the blood curdling urge to scream, but pushed it down.

"Even the sweet potato hills, Pork? And what about the corn whiskey Pa buried in the oak barrel under the scuppernog harbor?" Her stomach contracted painfully, and she continued, wincing. "But bring in the apples first."

Pork nearly smiled with respect and pleasure. "Miz Scarlett, Ah done plumb fergit about dose! Ah go get dem righ' now." He hurried off, nothing but a shadow in the darkness. Across from her, Rhett's face flickered in the candlelight as he stared at the dancing flames, eyes black and inscrutable as ever.

A small mewl echoed through the house, reminding Scarlett of her other responsibilities.

"Pork!" she called, and he hurried back. "Pork, I brought home a cow. Can you please milk it, so Melanie's baby has something to eat? He'll starve, otherwise."

Pork widened his eyes, but then realized that if Miss Scarlett was asking, then Miss Melly evidently had no milk to feed the baby with. He spoke hesitantly.

"Miz Scarlett, Mah Dilcey got a new chile herseff an' she got mo'n nuff fo' both chiles."

Scarlett nodded absently. One less thing to take care of, she thought, as Pork left again. She put her hand hesitantly on her father and patted him. She couldn't ask him about Ellen now, but she had to arouse him from his apathy.

"Pa, why didn't they burn Tara?"

As her father launched into the tale about the Yankee captain and her sisters' recovery from the typhoid, Scarlett's eyes drifted to Rhett. His gaze, in turn, was fixed on her father, though every so often he would turn and meet her eyes. She was never sure what he saw there, and the emotions that wracked his face were gone too quickly for her unanalytical mind to identify them. Once she thought she caught a hint of pity, but before her pride could be more than rankled, it had vanished. And besides, she was too busy raging against the thought of Yankees being in her beloved home, desecrating her walls, Ellen's walls, with their filth. She felt nothing but anger, even when Gerald spoke of the kind Yankee surgeon.

"It's glad I am that you are home," her father finished simply.

Pork came in again, carefully carrying two gourds full of whiskey. Scarlett wrinkled her nose at the strange reek, and a ghost of a smile passed over Rhett's face. She wondered dully how he could be amused at a time like this. Her own nerves were numb from suppressed pain.

"Here, father, drink this."

Obediently he took the dipper and drank deeply. As she took the whisky from him she saw his eyes follow her with a vague sense of disapproval in them.

"I know no lady drinks spirits, Pa. But-" here her eyes turned to Rhett significantly. "I'm not a lady today, and there's work to be done tonight."

She lifted the dipper to her lips and drank, nearly choking on the burning liquid and feeling tears in her eyes. She emptied the dipper, filled it, and lifted up again to drink. Seeing her actions, her father interjected with the first note of authority she had heard in his voice all evening.

"Katie Scarlett, that's enough. You'll be getting tipsy, you will."

"Tipsy?" she laughed bitterly. "I'd like to be drunk and forget all of this ever happened." She drank again, the warmth from the spirits filling her veins and bringing life to her sluggish blood. She smiled and, seeing the dismay in Gerald's eyes, patted him on the knee.

"How could they make me tipsy, Pa? Aren't I your daughter? Haven't I inherited the steadiest head in Clayton County?"

She turned to Rhett, remembering slowly that he was, she supposed, their guest. If Mammy were here, she would crow at Scarlett for her terrible manners.

"Rhett, help yourself to the whisky. I'm sorry we haven't any glasses or mint or-"

"Scarlett," he interrupted, his voice hard, "for the love of God, don't pretend." Rhett pulled the whiskey gourd towards himself and drank deeply, Scarlett still watching him. Don't pretend? Why, if she didn't pretend, she would by lying on the ground sobbing. Pretending was what was keeping her alive right now.

Rhett stood up, dropping the dipper back into the gourd.

"I'm going to go see if that horse is still alive," he said, seemingly also strengthened by the spirits. Scarlett frowned at him, suddenly worried.

"Rhett, there might be Yankees and-" suddenly an image of the dark, abandoned road arose in front of her eyes and she swallowed drily. Ghost stories that she had heard as a child now seemed much less foolish. Who knew what awaited on that dark, accursed road? But the horse and wagon, she agreed reluctantly, had to be gotten.

"Rhett, be careful, will you?" He twisted his mouth and lifted up a dueling pistol from his pocket. Scarlett felt a rush of relief. Rhett was a crack shot, she recalled. If any Yankee dared to show his face, Rhett would blow his head off. Putting the pistol back into his pocket, Rhett left the room noiselessly, and Scarlett turned back to her father, wondering again how she could take care of him.

After Gerald had drunk another dipper and a half of whiskey and Pork put him to bed, Scarlett headed wearily to her sisters' sickroom. Opening the door, she gagged on the odor of sweat and sickness that had accumulated in the room over the past few weeks. Holding her breath, she hastened over to the large window at the edge of the room. She didn't care what the doctors said, she thought, pushing open the glass panes, she had to have some fresh air if she was going to stay here even a moment longer. The cool outside air gusted through the room, causing the makeshift hog-fat candle to flicker and eerily throw light across her sisters' tossing forms. Scarlett leaned against the windowsill, breathing as deeply as she could through her tightly laced stays.

"Abominable things! Why do ladies have to wear corsets?" she muttered to herself, before the landscape before her wiped away any other thoughts.

The moonlight skidded across a scuffed land dotted with gray sores, the most striking reminder of the Yankee march. In the silver light, the red earth, dug up and mashed, looked glazed over blood from a broken body, like her body, she thought, slowly bleeding.

The door creaked softly, and Scarlett turned, expecting to see Rhett's form slipping through the door. But Dilcey came in instead, Melanie's baby pressed to her chest.

Scarlett exchanged some talk with her, which she could never remember after that night, no matter how much she tried. Only Mammy, Pork, and Dilcey, she thought sadly, where before there had been over a hundred. Well, she was glad Dilcey had stayed. Suddenly, she jumped as a _a rhythmic "Ker-bunk-ker-bunk-" broke the stillness of the air outside._

_"That's Mammy gettin' the water to sponge off the young Misses. They takes a heap of bathin'," explained Dilcey, propping the gourd on the table between medicine bottles and a glass._  
_Scarlett laughed suddenly. Her nerves must be shredded if the noise of the well windlass, bound up in her earliest memories, could frighten her..._  
_The windlass creaked slowly as the rope wound up, each creak bringing the bucket nearer the top. Soon Mammy would be with her-Ellen's Mammy, her Mammy...How still the night air was! The slightest sounds roared in her ears._  
_The upstairs hall seemed to shake as Mammy's ponderous weight came toward the door. Then Mammy was in the room, Mammy with shoulders dragged down by two heavy wooden buckets, her kind black face sad._  
_Her eyes lighted up at the sight of Scarlett, her white teeth gleamed as she set down the buckets, and Scarlett ran to her, laying her head on the broad, sagging breasts which had held so many heads, black and white. Here was something of stability, thought Scarlett, something of the old life that was unchanging. But Mammy's first words dispelled this illusion._  
_"Mammy's chile is home! Oh, Miss Scarlett, now dat Miss Ellen's in de grabe, whut is we gwine ter do? Oh, Miss Scarlett, effen Ah wuz jes' daid longside Miss Ellen! Ah kain make out widout Miss Ellen. Ain' nuthin' lef' now but mizry an' trouble. Jes' weery loads, honey, jes' weery loads."_  
_As Scarlett lay with her head hugged close to Mammy's breast, two words caught her attention, "weery loads." Those were the words which had hummed in her brain that afternoon so monotonously they had sickened her. Now, she remembered the rest of the song, remembered with a sinking heart:_  
_"Just a few more days for to tote the weary load!_ _No matter, 'twill never be light!_ _Just a few more days till we totter in the road-"_  
_"No matter, 'twill never be light"-she took the words to her tired mind. Would her load never be light? Was coming home to Tara to mean, not blessed surcease, but only more loads to carry? She slipped from Mammy's arms and, reaching up, patted the wrinkled black face._  
_"Honey, yo' han's!" Mammy took the small hands with their blisters and blood clots in hers and looked at them with horrified disapproval. "Miss Scarlett, Ah done tole you an' tole you dat you kin allus tell a lady by her han's an'-yo' face sunbuhnt too!"_  
_Poor Mammy, still the martinet about such unimportant things even though war and death had just passed over her head! In another moment she would be saying that young Misses with blistered hands and freckles most generally didn't never catch husbands and Scarlett forestalled the remark. _  
_"Mammy, I want you to tell me about Mother. I couldn't bear to hear Pa talk about her."_  
_Tears started from Mammy's eyes as she leaned down to pick up the buckets. In silence she carried them to the bedside and, turning down the sheet, began pulling up the night clothes of Suellen and Carreen. _As Mammy narrated the sorry tale of the trashy Slatterlys and Ellen's demise, Scarlett sat down heavily on a chair. As she heard of Ellen's suffering and her nursing of Suellen and Careen, her heart sank. That was her mother! Kind 'til the last, always thinking about someone else before herself. She still strained to smell Ellen's faint scent of lemon verbena and to hear her swishing skirts in this silent, sad remnant of Tara. Maybe this was all a dream, she thought wildly, and she would wake in the morning to Ellen's soft hands and the smell of bacon frying.  
_"Did she-did she ever mention me-call for me?" _She asked desperately, after Mammy finished.  
_"No, honey. She think she is lil gal back in Savannah. She din' call nobody by name."_  
_Dilcey stirred and laid the sleeping baby across her knees._  
_"Yes'm, she did. She did call somebody."_  
_"You hesh yo' mouf, you -!" Mammy turned with threatening violence on Dilcey._  
_"Hush, Mammy! Who did she call, Dilcey? Pa?"_  
_"No'm. Not yo' pa. It wuz the night the cotton buhnt-"_  
_"Has the cotton gone-tell me quickly!"_  
_"Yes'm, it buhnt up. The sojers rolls it out of the shed into the back yard and hollers, 'Here the bigges' bonfiah in Georgia,' and tech it off."_  
_Three years of stored cotton-one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, all in one blaze!_  
_"And the fiah light up the place lak it wuz day-we wuz scared the house would buhn, too, and it wuz so bright in this hyah room that you could mos' pick a needle offen the flo'. And w'en the light shine in the winder, it look lak it wake Miss Ellen up and she set right up in bed and cry out loud, time and again: 'Feeleep! Feeleep!' I ain' never heerd no sech name but it wuz a name and she wuz callin' him."_  
_Mammy stood as though turned to stone glaring at Dilcey but_ _Scarlett dropped her head into her hands. Philippe-who was he and_ _what had he been to Mother that she died calling him?_  
_The long road from Atlanta to Tara had ended, ended in a blank wall, the road that was to end in Ellen's arms. Never again could Scarlett lie down, as a child, secure beneath her father's roof with the protection of her mother's love wrapped about her like an eiderdown quilt. There was no security or haven to which she could turn now. No turning or twisting would avoid this dead end to which she had come. _  
There was no one on whose shoulders she could rest her burdens. Her father was old and ill, her sisters sick, Melly weak and frail, the children helpless, and Mammy and Pork clinging to her skirts with childlike faith. But Rhett? Her mind whispered slowly, cautiously. Scarlett shook her head. No, Rhett was no O'Hara, no member of her family, not her husband, either. How could she ask him to tote her load? Tara meant nothing to him.  
Tara. Through the window, her home stretched before her, desolate, broken, vulnerable. This was the end of the road, sickness, hunger, helpless hands. _And at the end of this road, there was nothing-nothing but Scarlett O'Hara Hamilton, nineteen years old, a widow with a little child._  
What would she do now? Melly and her baby could go to Aunt Pitty, Suellen and Careen would be taken in by Ellen's family, and she and Gerald could go to Uncle James and Andrew. She did not particularly like any of her family, she realized suddenly, except Gerald and, here her heart panged, Ellen. She could never like Suellen. She did not especially love the frail Careen- she had none of Scarlett's fighting spirit. But, she admitted to herself, they were of her blood, of Tara. She could not let them live on charity.  
_Was there no escape from this dead end? Her tired brain moved so slowly. She raised her hands to her head as wearily as if the air were water against which her arms struggled. She took the gourd_ _from between the glass and bottle and looked in it. There was some whisky left in the bottom, how much she could not tell in the uncertain light. Strange that the sharp smell did not offend her nostrils now. She drank slowly but this time the liquid did not burn, only a dull warmth followed._

_Then she discovered she was in her own room, on her own bed, faint moonlight pricking the darkness, and Mammy and Dilcey were undressing her. The torturing stays no longer pinched her waist and she could breathe deeply and quietly to the bottom of her lungs and her abdomen. She felt her stockings being stripped gently from her and heard Mammy murmuring indistinguishable comforting sounds as she bathed her blistered feet. How cool the water was, how good to lie here in softness, like a child. She sighed and relaxed and after a time which might have been a year or a second, she was alone and the room was brighter as the rays of the moon streamed in across the bed._  
_She did not know she was drunk, drunk with fatigue and whisky. She only knew she had left her tired body and floated somewhere above it where there was no pain and weariness and her brain saw things with an inhuman clarity._  
_No, she could not, would not, turn to Gerald's or Ellen's families. The O'Haras did not take charity. The O'Haras looked after their own. Her burdens were her own and burdens were for shoulders strong enough to bear them. She thought without surprise, looking down from her height, that her shoulders were strong enough to bear anything now, having borne the worst that could ever happen to her._  
It seemed as if from a million miles away, she heard noises from outside her door, Mammy's unmistakable tones and the deeper ones of another male. Male? Rhett! She realized, trying to sit up and failing. She hadn't told Mammy about Rhett, she thought, as she fell back to the bed heavily. But no, she couldn't get up again tonight.  
"It's alrighhhtt, Mammy," she said in a garbled voice, "he's with me. Put him to bed...somewhere."  
Without waiting to hear if Mammy had understood, Scarlett turned over again and fell into a deep reverie.  
_No, She could not desert Tara; she belonged to the red acres far more than they could ever belong to her. Her roots went deep into the blood-colored soil and sucked up life, as did the cotton. She would stay at Tara and keep it, somehow, keep her father and her sisters, Melanie and Ashley's child, the _slaves._ Tomorrow—oh, tomorrow! Tomorrow she would fit the yoke about her neck. Tomorrow there would be so many things to do... Tomorrow-tomorrow-her brain ticked slowly and more slowly, like a clock running down, but the clarity of vision persisted._  
_Of a sudden, the oft-told family tales to which she had listened since babyhood, listened half-bored, impatient and but partly comprehending, were crystal clear. Gerald, penniless, had raised_ _Tara; Ellen had risen above some mysterious sorrow; Grandfather Robillard, surviving the wreck of Napoleon's throne, had founded his fortunes anew on the fertile Georgia coast; Great-grandfather Prudhomme had carved a small kingdom out of the dark jungles of Haiti, lost it, and lived to see his name honored in Savannah. There were the Scarletts who had fought with the Irish Volunteers for a free Ireland and been hanged for their pains and the O'Haras who died at the Boyne, battling to the end for what was theirs._  
_All had suffered crushing misfortunes and had not been crushed. They had not been broken by the crash of empires, the machetes of revolting slaves, war, rebellion, proscription, confiscation. Malign fate had broken their necks, perhaps, but never their hearts. They had not whined, they had fought. And when they died, they died spent but unquenched. All of those shadowy folks whose blood flowed in her veins seemed to move quietly in the moonlit room. And Scarlett was not surprised to see them, these kinsmen who had taken the worst that fate could send and hammered it into the best. Tara was her fate, her fight, and she must conquer it._  
She turned drowsily on her side, a slow creeping blackness enveloping her mind. Had those figures really been there, whispering wordless encouragement to her, or was this part of her dream?  
_"Whether you are there or not," she murmured sleepily, "good night-_ _and thank you."_

The next morning, Scarlett's body ached all over from the jolting of the day before, and every movement was agony. Her head felt swollen and she winced at the yellow sunlight that streamed through her window and cursed the birds that made such an awful racket outside. Surveying herself before the mirror, for one of the first times in her life, she was not pleased at what she saw. Her palms were blistered an angry red color, her eyes were bloodshot and half closed, and her hair stood up in unruly disorder around her face.

Scarlett looked with loathing at the lavender frock she had worn the day before. She refused to wear it again, not just because of the dirt and grass stains, but because she wanted to burn anything that carried a trace of the nightmare that was yesterday. No, she shook her head obstinately, she would walk around stark naked, but she wouldn't touch that garment! Furiously, she approached the closet in the corner of her bare room. She remembered the day of the barbeque, when her room had been bursting with ribbon and lace and pretty dresses. Oh, if she could only have even the ugliest of her old dresses back! Even some of the black mourning clothes that made her look like a crow would do.

Far back in her closet, behind rows of ragged cleaning clothes and various rubbish that had accumulated over the years, she found a blue- striped cotton dress that she had worn only once, years ago. She had declared then that it wasn't her color and stripes made her waist look wide. Now, she gratefully slipped it over her head and marveled that it hadn't been torn up into rags or stolen by the Yankees.

Still wincing at the light, she slipped open the door to her room and walked down the hallway, looking for Melly to check that she was alright.

"Melly?" she called, opening the door of the countless rooms in the hall, the same sight greeting her eyes each time. Every room had been stripped bare of the decorations and paintings that had adorned it, exposing discolored patches. She felt her heart sink as she proceeded down the wing. Was there nothing left?

"Melanie," she called into the last room on that side of the house, and nearly slammed the door on her finger in her haste to close it. Her eyes were wide open now, shocked at what she had seen inside. Blinking rapidly to make sure she hadn't imagined anything, she opened the door softly again and stared. No, she hadn't imagined it.

Beneath the streaming light of the open window, Rhett was outstretched on a cot, sleeping on his stomach. The light glistened softly on the muscles of his bare back as they rose and fell in rhythm. Scarlett caught her breath, curiously attracted and simultaneously embarrassed. She had never seen any man without his shirt besides Charles, and that hadn't been much of a sight.

He stirred slowly and turned over, exposing the hard lines of his stomach until they disappeared beneath a white sheet. Scarlett gulped, suddenly afraid he would wake and find her staring at him. Slowly, she shut the door and turned her head until it was facing forward, slipping down against the door until she was sitting with her back to the door.

From inside the room she heard the unmistakable sounds of feet on the floor and a long, drawn out yawn. So Rhett was awake, Scarlett thought, relieved that she had shut the door in time. Cautiously, she stood up again. How silly she was being, she chastised herself as she knocked on the door.

Nearly at the same time her hand left the door, it was opened with a flourish and Rhett stepped out, a slight twinkle in his eye. Scarlett's eyes involuntarily wandered down his body. No, he wasn't shirtless anymore, she noted, with a mixture of relief and dismay. Instead, to her annoyance, he managed to look as immaculate as ever, even though he wore only an undershirt and his pants from the night before. She was suddenly, painfully aware of the way her hair blew around her head, of the unbecoming dress she was wearing. She blinked and looked at him, but to her surprise, he was already staring at her, his mouth twisted wryly.

"How did you get that thing to fit without a corset?" he asked lazily, impertinently. Scarlett felt the blood rush to her cheeks. She glared balefully at him. She hadn't worn the corset this morning because she knew how the stays would cut into her in the long day ahead. Trust Rhett to remark upon such a thing, she thought snidely.

"I have a naturally small waist," she snapped at him. "Much smaller than any of the other cows you consort with."

Rhett laughed at her and Scarlett turned angrily to leave. Oh, why had she picked Rhett Butler to bring home to Tara, of all people? But his warm hand on hers stopped her.

"Don't leave on my account, Scarlett. Now, what did you come to see me about?"

She snorted. "Come to see you? Why, I was looking for Melanie! I merely happened to run into-" then she thought of what she had seen, opening the door, and the angry words fell away from her mouth.

Rhett stood in front of her. "Yes?"

"Well, now that I'm here," Scarlett tried again, attempting to glaze over her awkward silence, "how did you sleep?"

He scoffed. "I never thought you were one for pleasantries, Scarlett. Well, yes, I slept as well as one can on a broken bed with a dueling pistol under his pillow."

Replying to Scarlett's questioning glance, he continued. "You see, Mammy put me as far away as humanly possible from the young ladies." His eyes twinkled. "She has some serious doubts about my honor in the face of, how shall we put it, young misses who fearlessly wrestle cows and deliver babies."

Scarlett laughed. Same old Mammy, she thought, the world could fall down about her ears and she would still be worried about what the neighbors would say. Rhett eyed her searchingly, leaning against the door with his arms folded.

"Rhett, that's ridiculous," she said, "I'll tell Mammy to move your things to the room right next to mine."

Rhett lifted his eyebrows and smiled briefly, his teeth shining white against his tan skin.

"Oh really?" he replied, walking closer to her, closing the distance between them. Scarlett looked up at him, suddenly aware of the steady thumping of her heart. "Why so close, my dear?"

She harrumphed in her best imitation of Gerald. "So if the Yankees come, they'll get you first, and I can escape" she replied saucily, turning to go. She heard Rhett's laugh behind her, but she kept walking.

"Breakfast is in the dining room," she said with her back turned, dimpling in spite of herself. She kept smiling as she continued down the hallway. How nice Rhett could be, she thought to herself, he could make her laugh and smile even when- here she paused for a moment, the memory of last night flooding back on her. The smile died on her lips, and it was if she could feel an invisible burden being fitted on her back. The weary load was here again, she thought sadly, the hunger, and the sickness, and the poverty. Scarlett sighed and leaned against the wall for a moment, as if all her strength had been sapped from her.

But no, the courage of the ancestors she had seen in her room last night, the spirit of all those O'Haras and Robilliards, came back to her again. Scarlett stood upright and squared her shoulders. Burdens were for shoulders strong enough to bear them, she thought again, and if she didn't tote the load, who would?

**A/N: I'll admit, this chapter wasn't very fun to write- mostly because I didn't change it all that much from GWTW, and so I basically had to do a lot of summarizing and quoting. Anything in italics is from GWTW and Margaret Mitchell, mostly because it's so good that I thought it would be a disgrace for me to paraphrase it. I don't own Scarlett and Rhett (though I wish I owned Rhett, but who doesn't?) If you've been reading this, I really appreciate all reviews because they let me know what worked and what didn't. Please drop a line to tell me how you felt about the chapter and the story so far. Thank you to my current reviewers for keeping me on my toes! **


	4. Chapter 4

Scarlett's head ached again and her stomach turned like she was pregnant again, which made the smoking yams on the breakfast table unendurable to her red eyes. Almost gagging, She sat down in front of her father. Rhett followed her a few minutes later, wearing a white shirt that covered his brawny arms, and took in her appearance as he sat down jauntily next to her.

"Hangover," he whispered, as he reached for a yam.

"What?" Scarlett asked irritably.

"This is what happens when you drink too much," he replied, before nodding at her father. "Good morning, Mr. O'Hara,"

"Good Morning, Mr.-" Gerald paused, then squinted at Rhett.

"Mr. Butler, Pa," said Scarlett quickly, "Don't you remember? He's staying with us for some time."

"Oh, Mr. Butler." Scarlett frowned. How had Gerald forgotten? She braced herself for Gerald's renewed complaints about the strange man under his roof. After all, Rhett had swindled him out of five hundred dollars. But Gerald said nothing, only looked away absently and folded his hands, his eyes faded and fastened on the door.

"We will wait for Mrs. O'Hara. She is late this morning." Scarlett raised her aching head and looked at him with startled disbelief, and met the eyes of Mammy, who was standing behind Gerald's chair, shaking her head at Scarlett and dabbing her red eyes with her apron. She then turned to Rhett, and saw that his shock was almost as great as her own.

Until now she had never realized how much she relied on Gerald to take command. Yes, last night he had been tired and bent, but he could at least tell a full story. Now, he couldn't even remember that Ellen was dead. The combined shock of the Yankees and Ellen's passing had been too much for him. She opened her mouth to say something, but Mammy shook her head urgently and Rhett put a rough hand on hers.

"Can Pa have lost his mind?" Scarlett thought desperately. "No, no, he's just sick and- dazed, that's all. He's going to get over it. He's got to get over it! What will I do if he doesn't? But I can't think of him or Mother or any of these horrible things now. There's so much, so much to do."

Standing abruptly, she left the dining room without eating. She made her way to the back porch, where Pork was cracking peanuts. Her head still swimming, she dispensed with the usual pleasantries and began to question him with such a brusque tone that Pork looked up at her reproachfully, startled. Miz Ellen had never used such a tone, even with the meanest field hand!

She listened carefully to Pork's assessment, her green eyes gleaming strangely. The horse they had brought with them was dead. No, the cow wasn't dead, but it had a calf. What an idiot Prissy was- she had said the cow only needed milking. The sow was still alive, but had been driven into the swamp. There was no corn, and only three bales of cotton remained of the hundreds Tara normally produced, and which had been ruined by the wheels of Yankee carts and trampled beneath the hooves of their horses. Rhett came up behind her and leaned against the back door, arms folded. When she paused with her questioning, he broke in.

"Pork, can you ask your Prissy to draw up a few buckets of water from the well? I want to bathe."

Scarlett looked at him, her mouth open with shock and outrage. Bathing! Who was thinking of bathing at a time like this? Rhett looked at her, lazily, impertinently.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" she cried, voice shaking, "thinking of bathing at a time like this!"

"Ashamed?" Rhett's eyebrows went up. "Ashamed for what? For not wanting to smell like cow dung?"

"Mist' Rhett," Pork interjected, "Ah dun pulled up sum' water already frum de well dis mawrnin'. Follow me, sah, and Ah show ya where."

"Excellent, Pork," drawled Rhett, and followed the hobbling Pork over behind the house.

Scarlett watched them leave, hands trembling in fists and head pounding. Well then! They could go see about getting clean and she would go see about what to eat, she thought bitterly. She walked back into the house and picked up a large split-oak basket. Mammy's old sunbonnet, faded but clean, hung on a wall and she put that on her head, remembering with a pang the green bonnet Rhett had bought her from Paris.

Every step jouncing her, she made her way down the back steps and towards the red road that stretched towards the river, pebbles digging into her thin soled slipper and pricking at her blisters. What was she doing here, she wondered drearily, Scarlett O'Hara, belle of five counties, who had been pampered and coddled all her life? Her feet had been made for dancing, not for trudging wearily across the hard earth. She shook her head bitterly. Well, this was her life now.

Scarlett continued mindlessly over the ravaged fields, until she reached the cool water of the river. A sharp pang from one of her blisters rent a sob from her mouth, and she stripped off her shoes and stockings and sat down a moment. The cool water massaged her sore feet and the leaves around her rustled softly in the breeze. She looked around at the beauty, wishing she could just stay here, away from the war and her eerily silent home. Her stomach rumbled, spurring her to get to her feet and slip on the accursed slippers.

She passed the Slatterly place, burnt to a crisp, and wished savagely that the whole Slatterly clan had been cremated inside of it. But there was no time for bitterness now, she thought, ordering her feet to move forward. There was work to do.

"What will I do when there is no work, when I'm lying alone in the darkness? How will I keep away the thoughts then?" she wondered desperately. She had no answer.

All thought was suspended, however, when she reached Twelve Oaks. She gasped at the ruin of the stately house she had once known, the blackened foundations still encircled by the twelve tall oak trees that had stood there when Clayton County was wilderness.

Scarlett swallowed drily, still aware of her empty stomach. She slowly made her way to the gardens Twelve Oaks had been famous for, but they were empty. The vegetables had been mashed into the ground. Hope fading fast, she went around to the whitewashed slave cabins that stood behind the blackened foundation, still intact. Perhaps the slave gardens were still there.

Her search was rewarded, but she was too tired to feel anything at the rows of turnips and cabbages, wilted but still standing, and the yellow butter beans and snap beans. In th eback of one cabin sh found a row of radishes, and her hungry stomach gave a great growl. Greedily, she ripped one out of the earth and bit it, barely bothering to dust it off. The radish was old and peppery and stung her throat, and she choked and fell to the soft earth, vomiting weakly into the ground.

She could not go on, she thought desperately. This was where the road ended. She couldn't carry the load any longer. Like buzzards, all the memories she had pushed away in her mind surrounded her with hideous claws. They flew in circles around her and pecked her small body with their beaks. Still lying prostate, Scarlett wept openly, and her tears mixed with the dirt and mud slipped down her face. Memories of her mother, of the way her father used to be, of the home that had been destroyed all passed in front of her eyes, refusing to be ignored. Sob after sob racked her body, until she lay completely still in the ground, shivering.

Suddenly, she felt rough hands encircling her shoulders and someone shaking her.

"Scarlett! Scarlett!" she heard. Face contorting, she opened her heavy eyelids to Rhett's swarthy face, drawn in lines of –could that be worry?

"Good god! Are you alright?" Rhett asked, pulling her up so that she was sitting on the ground. At his words, she felt hot tears prickle behind her eyes. Great balls of fire! Would the crying never end, she wondered, as the tears trickled down her face. Rhett said nothing, just wrapping her in his arms, for the second time in three days. She felt his fingers smoothing down her wild hair, with her face buried in his shirt front.

"It's over, Rhett. Mother's gone, and father-" she sobbed here, unable to finish her thought. Again, she felt a soft pressure on her head. Could that be his lips?

"There's no going back," she said brokenly. Then the truth of her words stuck her, and as always, she accepted the truth gratefully, with little surprise.

"There is no going back," she said again, but this time with a steely determination in her voice. She lifted her head up. "And I'm going forward."

She felt Rhett's body stiffen against hers and she pulled back away from him, gripping his arms and looking him in the face. Her mouth was pursed in a persistent line, and through her swimming green eyes, the very depths of her soul seemed visible, although she didn't know it. Rhett's face was a mixture of surprise and something else, which she couldn't bother to analyze right now.

"Rhett, I'll never be hungry again." She gripped him harder and almost shook him. "If I get through this, I'll never be hungry again. I don't care if I have to lie or cheat or steal, but I'll never-"

"Shhhh," Rhett muttered, crushing her face against his chest again.

"I'll never be hungry again; I'll never be hungry again," Scarlett whispered, as if in a daze. Rhett released her and looked her in the face. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.

"No, you won't. Whether by my power or yours," he said softly, deliberately, "you'll never be hungry if I can help it." Scarlett's eyes were blazing with determination and she barely heard a word he said.

"Burdens are made for shoulders strong enough to bear them," she said, repeating her thought from last night. Rhett looked at her sharply.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked, seemingly very interested.

"I thought of it." Scarlett said, surprised at his question. Rhett lifted his eyebrows.

"Stunningly perceptive, for you." Scarlett felt a faint rush of irritation at this barb, but Rhett's next words smoothed it over. "But very right. Your shoulders are strong enough to bear the burden, Scarlett, and bear it you will."

Rhett suddenly stood up and pulled her up with him, so that she was standing upright, his hands still on her arms. With one hand, he tilted her chin up so that Scarlett was looking directly at him.

"But you won't have to bear it alone." He said simply.

Scarlett looked up at Rhett's lean brown face, stripped of all mockery and derision. _Not alone._ She looked at Rhett's strong shoulders and an unexpected rush of relief went through her. _Not alone. _Uncertainly, she dimpled up at Rhett, and he answered with a smile of his own.

"Now, come on, honey, let's go home," he said, voice surprisingly kind. Accordingly, Scarlett stepped forward into the dirt. But a rock jutted into her sore, blistered foot and she gave a small cry. Sitting down again, she removed the slipper and stocking to examine the damage. The accursed thing was bleeding, she thought angrily.

"What on earth?" Rhett bent down and examined the angry red sole of her foot. He whistled slowly through his teeth. "That's bad. If you walk on it, you probably won't be able to walk again for at least a week."

Scarlett frowned at him. "Well, what do you propose I do, then? I can't exactly sleep here," she said irritably. But her irritation soon turned to surprise, as Rhett put his arms under her and lifted her up.

"For heaven's sake, Rhett! Put me down!" she yelled, still in shock and wobbling uncertainly from side to side.

"Put your arms around my neck. Stops the swaying," he said brusquely in response, and kept walking. At first, Scarlett resisted his suggestion, but then the side to side motion was too much for her and she twisted both arms around his neck. Unwillingly, she found herself smiling and relaxing. Rhett looked down at her and smiled back, his eyes searching deep into hers. Scarlett found herself suddenly uncomfortable at his scrutiny and she looked away into the green branches of the bordering trees. Abruptly, Rhett broke the silence.

"Scarlett," he cleared his throat. "I've been meaning to say that I'm proud of you."

Scarlett nearly let go of his neck in her shock. Awkwardly she fumbled her hands so that her grip was tight again. This from Rhett, who had never spoken to her without a hidden jab in his voice? She blinked rapidly.

"Proud of me?" she spoke, when she was able to speak again.

"Yes," he continued, looking at her again, his face clean and devoid of any mockery. Scarlett thought that he also seemed surprised at his own words. "If any other woman had gone through what you've had to, she would be swooning in bed, probably at death's door, and I'd be at my wits end taking care of her and playing the heroic prince." He chuckled. "No matter what I said to you on our hospital carraige ride, you are certainly no damsel in distress, and nor will you ever be."

Scarlett flushed under his praise, even more embarrassed because it was coming from Rhett. She tried to remember the last time someone had been proud of her, and to her embarrassment, though certainly not to her surprise, she couldn't remember. She couldn't see the Mammy's pride in her, masked as it was by constant chastisement and upbraiding. She knew she had been the apple of Gerald's eye but he had never told her how proud he was of her, and, besides, he was more proud of her belle status and beauty than her attitude. And besides, the only person who Scarlett had ever cared about pleasing was her mother, but somehow she knew that she had never been able to gratify Ellen by being a real lady.

"And now it's too late," she thought, with a little pang.

"-In fact," she heard Rhett continue, "the only thing you really required my assistance with was getting up from the ground, just now, and getting home without permanently injuring your feet." He looked down at her and laughed again, but Scarlett was slightly piqued. Oh, really?

"Don't you flatter yourself, Rhett Butler." she began, "You know very well I could have gotten up completely by myself. I may have been heartbroken, but I'll never be heartbroken enough to be cornered or defeated." Her eyes blazed again with determination, but Rhett didn't take the bait. He just shook his head quietly, and slightly sadly, laughing mood evaporated.

"Oh, I believe you," he said softly, "but the Scarlett O'Hara who would have gotten up from that ground alone wouldn't have been the same Scarlett O'Hara in front of me."

Scarlett frowned at him, confused as always by anything that wasn't literal. What was he talking about, with that far-off, misty look in his eyes? Wouldn't have been the same person!

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"There's something in falling to the cold earth and standing up again alone that hardens you, makes you cold." His eyes were still looking off into the distance. "After that, you can't recognize and goodness when you see it—can't think of anything except cold hard cash." Scarlett's eyes unconsciously drifted over his shoulder to the black outline of Twelve oaks that was visible in the distance. At his words, an image arose in her mind, and it was as if she saw a shadow of herself on the ground, besides the slave cabins. And she saw another Scarlett O'Hara, broken and tired, rise wearily from the ground and pick up her vegetable basket. Scarlett shuddered at the pain she felt emanating from the hazy figure, pain that gave way to a mask ruthless grit. She shuddered, suddenly sure, with a superstitious fear, that had Rhett not been there to support her she would have been that pained, weary figure whose hurt leaked out through the cracks in her mask.

"Fiddle dee dee," she said airily, her brave words not quite masking the tremble in her voice, "As if anyone could become cold just like that! What on earth would you know about that anyhow?"

Rhett looked at her suddenly. "Oh ho, I've seen people become very hard over adversity much less than what you've gone through, my dear. I know from experience."

"Experience?" Scarlett frowned. "What are you talking about?" A queer thought began to form in her head. Had Rhett also gone through the same thing- or- her heart beat strangely, almost like she was jealous, but of course that was ridiculous- had he helped some other woman through similar ordeals?

Rhett sighed and broke eye contact with her again, his mouth twisting down in a way Scarlett had never seen before. She knew instinctively that he was lost in thoughts of some other time again.

"When my father cast me out at eighteen, I was penniless. Hadn't any possessions in the world except for the deck of cards in my pocket, three dollars in pocket money, and the clothes on my back. My little sister kept screaming and crying for me not to leave, I was always her favorite, you see." Even now there was a boyish note of pride in her voice, which quickly turned to sad matter-of-factness. "But he pulled her off and kicked me out. My last memory of that house is my mother lying in a swoon on the ground and my sister's wail as my father slapped her.

That night, I went to a bar and drunk myself until I was vomiting and the madam of the house had two men forcibly eject me from the house, into a large pile of slop that was sitting outside. I mourned the last time for what I had lost there. When I stood up, I resolved that I'd show my father just how successful I could be- I'd be the biggest, richest man in Charleston, and then I'd show them."

"Did you?" asked Scarlett, as absorbed in the story as a small child. Rhett seemed to return into the present, and looked at her again.

"I did." He smiled, a faint turning of the lips which didn't reach his eyes.

"Well, how did it feel?" questioned Scarlett, puzzled at the sudden anticlimax. Rhett shrugged.

"Telling people to go to hell, excuse my language, isn't the same when you have no one to share the triumph with. So I left Charleston to do some business in a little rural region called Clayton County, and I found something else to occupy myself with." His gaze was sharp and searching, suddenly, but the gears of Scarlett's mind were turning and she didn't notice.

"Why, Rhett, then you're saying that you are- cold and hard?" She realized suddenly. "You aren't cold at all! I mean, you can be... insufferable but you're dependable."

He raised his eyebrows. "Thank you for your praise, my pet, but as always, you've shown yourself to be a terrible judge of character. You have no idea what a scoundrel I am, or was." He sighed, half regretfully. "I fear it is my age which has mellowed me. What a young rascal I was." Rhett chuckled. "I even outdid you."

"Rhett, if you're going to be insulting, I'll ask you to kindly put me down."

"I am putting you down. I can't carry you for a mile and a half without resting, even though I've grown strangely used to holding a woman in my arms." He winked at her roguishly. "And there's a tree stump over there."

Carefully, he put her down on the stump and kneeled beside it, resting his weight on his knees. Scarlett looked around. Why, this was the same stump which she had waited for Gerald on, that day before the barbeque! Her heart ached suddenly for that day, for youth and beauty which had been lost, or at least hidden from her eyes. Tara's red acres stretched in front of her, and even in her sorrow she felt gladness at coming home, to where she belonged.

If she could see the look in her eyes, she would have been stunned. Their green depths were mixed strangely with hurt and determination, sorrow at her broken home and the will to rebuild. But most of all, her eyes were deep green pools, and though they seemed aged with grief at the surface, another emotion lurked below, waiting to come out.

As she sat silently in front of Tara, she felt this hidden feeling grip her heart and strengthen imperceptibly. What was it? Then her eyes fell on the brawny hand of Rhett, resting on the tree stump beside her, and the emotion coursed through her again, bathing and renewing her lacerated soul. It gushed through her heart and lungs and left her breathless, and for a moment, she felt that the world brightened around her; the dark forest turned to gold, and the earth of Tara became rubies.

Scarlett felt hope.

**A/N: Yay! It's finally up. Sorry it took so long, but I hope the chapter's length made up for it. School started and we had a deadly Physics test, which is why I wasn't able to upload earlier. This was probably my favorite chapter to write so far- I imagined this conversation for a long time.**

**Thanks to all my reviewers- you guys are amazing. To everyone that's reading, thanks for supporting me. Your reviews are what keep me going! If you like my story, there's nothing that gives more happiness to a hardworking author more than a review. If I did something dumb accidentally, I welcome constructive criticism. **

**This chapter is dedicated to Lawdy :) I own nothing. **


	5. Chapter 5

They walked back home almost in silence, which was punctuated from time to time by meaningless conversation. When they came closer to Tara, Scarlett spied Mammy's face peeking out from Suellen and Careen's room, her brows drawn and mouth screwed up ominously. Scarlett recognized that face all too well- Mammy was going to bless her out, the first chance she got, and this would be no light scolding either.

"Oh, Rhett, put me down!" she cried, looking nervously at the now empty window.

"That was Mammy, wasn't it?" Rhett whistled through his teeth. "Looks like you're in for it, Scarlett."

"So put me down!" she cried again. Rhett merely raised an eyebrow at her.

"What's the use? She's seen you anyways. And if you pop that blister and aren't able to walk for a week, you're going to get a scolding from both of us." Scarlett bit her lip and looked anxiously at the house again, but she had to admit, Rhett was right. As usual.

Suddenly, she thought of something and brightened up instantly.

"Rhett, Mammy's too proper to scold me in front of company. So this is what we'll do. You just stick to me like a cockleburr until... until-"

"Until when? I refused to be tied to your apron strings just because you're afraid to get what's coming to you. I'm surprised, Scarlett. I never thought you were a coward." Scarlett's eyes flashed at this last insult and she drew her black brows together.

"Oh you-" She pouted her mouth, but Rhett interrupted her.

"Before you pelt me with any of your unimaginative insults, let me explain. I'm going hunting."

Scarlett quickly forgot her anger. "Hunting? For what?"

"Well, whatever you can find in the swamps around here. Possum, rabbits..."

An image of rabbit stew floated into her mind and her stomach growled rather loudly. She looked at Rhett, hoping he hadn't noticed, but the smile on his face rid her of that hope. Clearing her throat, she began to speak again.

"I didn't know you could hunt."

"What do you think I did as a boy in Charleston? I was the best hunter for fifty miles around." Scarlett seriously doubted that, but she wasn't about to complain when more food was in the bargain. She looked at the basket that she had balanced precariously on her stomach, and noted that the vegetables didn't seem enough for six ravenous people.

"What on earth are you going to hunt with? Your dueling pistol?"

Rhett laughed. "Don't you know anything about hunting? If you go hunting with a dueling pistol, you aren't going to end up eating much. But that was what I was going to ask you. Does Gerald have any hunting equipment left that the Yankees haven't carried off with their greedy paws?"

Scarlett shrugged. "I don't know. Ask Pork when we get home."

"You mean now?"

Scarlett looked around and awkwardly realized that they were at the porch already. That walk had seemed so short- ages shorter than when she had stumbled to Twelve Oaks earlier this morning. Rhett set her down carefully on the porch, and she looked nervously at the door. Mammy was sure to be inside.

"Well, I'm off, Scarlett." Rhett gave her a crooked grin. Scarlett cast around desperately for something to delay him.

"Wait, Rhett! You can't go out like that!" It was true. Scarlett couldn't imagine how she hadn't noticed it before, but Rhett looked positively disheveled. His hair was sticking up in odd places, and his shirt was buttoned so that half of it was too high, half too low. She reached her hands up into his hair and tried to smooth out the pieces that were sticking upright, with little success. He was so tall that she had to stand on tiptoe and reach absurdly to reach his head, and consequently her attention wasn't focused on his face, but on keeping her balance, and on wondering how his hair was so soft. Had she looked down, she would have seen how Rhett's mouth had been stripped of its perpetual smirk, how his eyes were unclothed of mockery and gleaming strangely. But when she lowered her hands, his face was once again fixed into the old inscrutable lines, though his hands, thrust deep into his pockets, were unable to hide their trembling very well. Scarlett, though, merely undid and rebuttoned his shirt, and gave a half hearted attempt at smoothing his collar. Suddenly absurdly aware of his broad shoulders, the sheer size of his panther-like body, and the charged silence between them, she clicked her tongue awkwardly.

"What was the point of taking a bath if you were going to try to look like a wastrel anyway?" She noted exasperatedly that his hair was popping back up. Rhett looked almost sheepish.

"Well, how was I to know you'd go gallivanting all over the country, waiting for Yankees to come get you? A sheep would have more sense than you."

Scarlett considered retorting, but she ignored the barb. "Oh, that reminds me. How on earth did you know where I was?"

"I asked Mammy. And though she looked like she'd rather swallow an uncooked yam than talk to me, she mentioned that you'd been talking with Pork about going to Twelve Oaks for food, and she supposed you'd gone there. She then muttered something very unkind about gentlemen hanging around young women before breakfast. Does she know everything?"

Scarlett laughed in spite of herself. "Just about." Rhett laughed roughly too and then raised an eyebrow.

"If I don't go now, all chance of catching anything will be gone." Scarlett nodded reluctantly and watched Rhett go to find Pork. Suddenly, a wave of weakness hit her and she leaned on the door frame for support. Behind the door, she heard Mammy dragging her ponderous weight around the hallway, having undoubtedly heard every word of her conversation with Rhett. She suddenly didn't have the effort for a struggle, and she made her way wearily up the stone stairs and through the hallway, which seemed dark even at noon. The strength that had gripped her when she had been sitting on the tree stump was fading fast, and she was keenly aware of her empty stomach and pounding head for the first time since Rhett had found her. Silently, she moved as quickly as she could up the stairs, hoping that she could avoid Mammy for a little longer. Perhaps she would check on Melly; that would keep her safe a little while longer. And besides, she admitted grudgingly to herself, she missed Melly's reassuring, forgiving presence, and the emptiness of Tara was beating on her nerves. She turned into the hallway where Melly's sickroom was, according to Dilcey, and knocked softly on her door.

"Come in!" she heard weakly, and she turned the doorknob. Melly lay spread out awkwardly on the bed, Beau in one arm and Wade in the other. Wade was giggling about something, probably some new story Melly had made up for him, and Beau's tiny fists were waving in the air. Seeing the happy scene, Scarlett felt a sudden pang of jealousy. Melly certainly had a way with children. Wade had always started to cry when she held him as a baby. Not that she had done that very often.

"How are you feeling, Melly? Have you eaten anything?" she asked. Abstractedly, she added, "Wade, mind you don't bounce on Aunty." She noticed with irritation how Wade's smile abruptly vanished and he curled in closer to Melanie. What had she said to him that was so terrible?

Melly patted Wade's hair. "I'm fine, Scarlett, darling. No, I haven't eaten. But sick people aren't very hungry anyways." She smiled wanly, and Scarlett wondered at how her sister in law could seem so happy. But Melly was always that way.

"Darling, come sit on the bed for a minute. Wade, honey, move over for a minute so mother can come sit with us." Obligingly, Wade wiggled to the side and Scarlett took his place. Melly reached her white, thin hands up and smoothed Scarlett's hair. And Scarlett, for once, didn't feel the urge to shake her off.

"Scarlett, you look so tired. You ought to eat something, darling, or you'll work yourself to death. Oh, you are so good and kind and strong, working yourself like this for baby and me." Scarlett was unable to meet her eyes, and wondered again how Melanie could be so blind, so oblivious. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

"Rhett's gone hunting, and I've brought home some vegetables. We should have some stew for you, and then soon you'll be feeling much better," she said shortly. Melly's hands still idled in her hair.

"Perhaps," Melanie said softly. Scarlett looked into her abnormally large eyes, and wondered how they could look so ethereal, their gray almost turned to silver.

"Don't worry about me, darling. Here, this bed is so big. Why don't you lay down for a little while. You seem a little feverish." Melanie felt Scarlett's forehead, and Scarlett almost shivered. Why, Melanie's hands were ice cold! And she was worrying about Scarlett!

Scarlett sighed and moved over to the far end of the bed. She'd humor Melanie, she supposed. Maybe she'd just nap for a few minutes. But when she rested her head on the mattress, her eyes closed immediately and she sank into a deep sleep.

When Scarlett woke, the red light of the setting sun streamed in through the window and onto her face, and she sat up hastily. Had she really been asleep for that long? Pressing into her side, Wade still slept on, his features tranquil in dreams of the little red house he had grown up in. Even Beau was asleep, fists resting contentedly on his mother's pale, emaciated face. Scarlett felt a chill go through her, and before she could stop herself, she cried out.

"Melly? Melly!"

Melanie fluttered her eyelids and answered sleepily, although patiently. "Yes, Scarlett?"

Scarlett felt vaguely foolish, and cursed her tendency to check that Melly was still breathing every two minutes. "Nothing. Sorry for waking you." Melly shook her head forgivingly, still half asleep. Scarlett laid down cautiously again, and Wade, still asleep, put his thumb into his mouth and snuggled into her side. Scarlett awkwardly put her arm around him so that she was comfortable again,a and for the first time in three days, really looked at her son.

Wade looked contented enough in sleep, though his face was thin and somewhat drawn from the last terrible months of the siege. He certainly wasn't afraid of her now, she thought, somewhat bitterly. She hadn't wanted to make Wade afraid of her. She had wanted to be a mother like Ellen was: kind, understanding, never raising her voice. She had failed miserably in that pursuit as well. But at the same time, she hadn't really wanted to be a mother. She could barely feel that the form beside her had come from her, that she had brought life into the world. How could she be old enough to do that, when she felt so young herself? Looking at her son's peaceful features, some of the buried nurturing spirit inside of her surfaced. After all, it wasn't Wade's fault she hadn't been ready to have a child, so she pledged to try to be a better mother. She owed Ellen at least that.

"Scarlett?" Melly questioned, seemingly more awake now. "Did I tell you Captain Butler came in here looking for you today?"

"Really?" Scarlett was shocked in spite of herself.

"Yes, he looked quite wild. I've never seen him so disheveled- you know how groomed he always is." Melly paused, and the image of Captain Butler as he had been earlier that morning came into her mind. There had been a wild look of panic in his eyes when he had asked her if he knew where Scarlett was, a panic that had only grown when she confessed she hadn't seen Scarlett since last night.

Melanie had pondered his demeanour all day, as she told the children stories and rocked Beau back and forth, and just before Scarlett had come in, Melanie had finally understood. Suddenly, Rhett's innumerable visits to the little house on Peachtree street had made sense, his attention to them at Gettysburg, even his behavior on the Atlanta Bazaar. He loved Scarlett.

Melanie wondered how she hadn't seen it before. Her clean, simple heart went out completely to Rhett. Poor man, to have to hide his love so completely! For dear Scarlett had always had so many beaux, with her vivacious nature and strikingly beautiful looks, and had never paid him any attention except as a friend. Scarlett's surprised face, across the bed, red in the light of the setting sun, betrayed as much. Melanie decided that it wasn't her place to reveal Captain Butler's secret, but her heart ached for both of them. So she decided to approach the problem from another angle.

"Scarlett, Captain Butler is a wonderful man for helping us so, but- oh, darling, you know how the matrons will gossip if they ever find out that he stayed with three lone women without a chaperone!"

Scarlett's mind returned with a jolt from it's far off places, and she bristled.

"For goodness's sake, Melly. you want me to throw him out and let us starve to death because of what some old cats might say?"

"Oh, no, dear," Melly replied fretfully, reproaching herself for having angered Scarlett. "We won't say a word to them about any of this. Don't you worry, darling. Only...I had always thought Captain Butler would leave after taking us to Tara. There are much nicer places he could be right now, after all. But, of course, he couldn't leave you alone, with Mr. O'Hara so broken after your mother's- Oh no, darling! Don't go! How foolish of me to bring up such matters so soon... please forgive me, darling!"

She sounded on the verge of tears, and Scarlett paused with her hand still on the doorknob. Hearing of her mother still probed at a gaping wound in her heart, and she had wanted nothing more than to flee.

"Melly, don't work yourself up like that. You'll wake the baby and get even weaker." She returned to Melly's side, trying to speak kindly. "There's no reason to be sorry." She awkwardly patted Melly's brown hair, stringy from the exertions of the past few days. "My goodness, your hair! I'll braid your hair for you tomorrow morning, Melly, how's that?" Melly held Scarlett's hand with two icy ones of her own and smiled up at her, relieved. Trying to smile in return, Scarlett turned to leave. She had to take care of Melly, and it wouldn't do to upset her.

She made her way downstairs, stumbling a few times on the unlit stairs. From the darkness at the bottom of the stairs came a huge, lumbering form, and Scarlett's heart leaped to her throat with dread. Then Mammy came into the light, and Scarlett felt annoyed at her jumpy nerves.

"Miss Scarlett, ah done werked mah nose t' de grind tryin' to make yer a lady, an' seein' you ceeryin on so wid sech a bad man as mist' Butler breaks mah heart! Miz Ellen be turnin' in de grabe right now, an' she gon' ask me: Mammy, wad you mean, lettin' strange men hold mah chile lak dat? Wat 'm ah gon' answer tah her? Ain' you gon' hang round no mo' wid dat bad Butler man! You gon' tell him to git!"

"Mother of God! Why does everyone want me to throw out Rhett just because he's a man?" Scarlett roared, finally overcome. "Does no one care about me? Do you realize I would be dead if he hadn't stolen that horse for us? How would you feel then? Would mother be turning over in the grave? Listen to this, all of you!" She pointed at Mammy, forgetting all the manners she had ever been taught. "If Rhett goes, I go too, and then the rest of you can manage as best you can! You have no shame!" Flouncing angrily away, she heard Mammy muttering behind her.

"Fools, all of them!" She thought as she stormed away. "What do they know about-oof!" She collided with something hard and almost fell, but something steadied her. She looked up into Rhett's face, blinking rapidly. She wondered how long he had been standing in the front hall, how much he had heard. He looked equally as surprised, but then his wide lips split into a grin.

"Careful! Do you want me to drop these? I spent so long catching them!" Scarlett wondered what the "these" were for a second, and then she became aware of something furry on her arm. She squealed and jumped back, rubbing her sleeves to remove all traces of possum from them. Rhett stood in front of her, a rabbit in one hand and possum in the other. Mammy came huffing and puffing from behind her and then stopped at the sight. Her mouth popped open, and Scarlett turned to her, feeling smug.

"Mammy, can you make some stew out of the vegetables I brought home and the rabbit? Something warm will help Suellen and Careen quite a bit."

"Yes chile," Mammy muttered, eyes wide and flashing in her dark face. She took the possum and rabbit from Rhett and went on her way to the kitchen, grumbling suppressed for once. The wide door to the kitchen swung shut behind her, leaving Rhett and Scarlett standing alone in the hall. Scarlett cleared her throat and absently moved behind the couch. She wanted to know how much Rhett had heard, but didn't know how to ask him. Rhett sat down on the couch and began to remove his muddy shoes.

"You're rather mother hennish, you know that, Scarlett?"

"Mother hennish?" Scarlett repeated, taken aback. Rhett nodded.

"You're very protective of your brood. It's rather amusing." He turned to her and grinned.

Scarlett felt annoyed, and burst out, "Well, you're amused by everything! Whenever I look at you, you're always smiling at something. It's rather unbecoming."

Rhett shrugged eloquently. "There are worse things in the world than being unbecoming and smiling so much. What do you want me to do? Lay on the ground and beat my fists on the ground? Life is what it is. We may as well be amused by it."

For once, Scarlett had no retort. She merely frowned at his back, as he finished taking off his shoes, and followed him with her eyes as he went to put them away. Suddenly, what Melly had said earlier echoed in her ears. Why hadn't Rhett left when they had reached Tara? It couldn't be because of kindness; she had no illusions about that. Rhett was a businessman, and his words from long ago played in her mind.

_ "Always remember I never do anything without reason and I never give anything without expecting something in return. I always get paid."_

"But what does he want from me this time?" she wondered. Watching his powerful back disappear into the darkness behind the stairs, she realized that she hadn't the faintest idea.

**A/N: About a day or two ago, this story hit 50 reviews! Thank you to everyone who gave me feedback: lucasta, rosamglamyan, ilidio13, Chris OHB, Masked Memories, all the guests, and, of course, Lawdy! Your reviews are what keep me motivated, so if you like this story and want to show it, a review is the best way to show it (talking to you, lurkers). This chapter was kind of a fill-in; I want to show how the R-S relation develops and changes, and also explore Scarlett's relation with Melanie and Wade. Let me know what you thought :) **


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